trek 'verse
by onceuponaplot
Summary: star trek au / It's just his luck that his last few days on-planet are in the middle of a massive storm system. He's sure the wildlife have learned more than a few interesting curses over the past few days, Bucky's frustration at this posting draining what little patience he has for slimy, oozing things and skittering animals with glowing eyes.
1. safe

_Originally posted in November 2014 as part of a 30 day writing challenge on Archive of Our Own._

* * *

The sky outside is an ominous mix of navy and crimson, dark, streaky clouds blocking out the sun. Around them the forest is loud, filled with the rustling of creatures unknown and the howling wind.

Something slaps against Bucky's back and he stumbles, regains his footing only after his tricorder suffers an unfortunate encounter with a puddle of muddy water. He picks it up again and does his best to wipe the dirt away on his uniform. It leaves the display smudged and the outer casing stained but the thing still works and for that he's grateful, lines himself back up with the blinking path displayed on screen.

"Shit," he mutters when a large branch breaks off and lands with a crash where he'd been standing a moment ago.

He's thankful his assignment here is finished after tomorrow. Thank god his next assignment is for a research vessel and not some deathtrap like this: if he's on an away team to any planet with jungles in the next month he'll probably scream. He'll go, he'll follow his orders, but as soon as he's back safe and sound on the ship he's going to scream. Maybe kick things.

 _God_ he hopes the ship has a holodeck. He hasn't seen Earth proper in nearly a year, and even a simulation will keep him running until he has the opportunity to take a long vacation and enjoy the luxuries home has to offer.

It's just his luck that his last few days on-planet are in the middle of a massive storm system. He's sure the wildlife have learned more than a few interesting curses over the past few days, Bucky's frustration at this posting draining what little patience he has for slimy, oozing things and skittering animals with glowing eyes.

Something wet drips down the neck of Bucky's uniform when he's nearly back to base and that's it, he is done, he will do whatever is within his power to get Stone to cover his last perimeter check, because Bucky does not want to have jungle goo on him ever again.

If there's one thing he has to admit after six months here, it's this: Starfleet is not all bright ships and exciting interstellar missions, and is nowhere near as glamorous as he imagined it when he was a kid.

Bucky still loves it.


	2. passion

Steve's no Kirk, but after the incident on Delta 439 enough stories about him float around from ship to ship that people have Expectations when they first meet him, capital letters and all. Justice is a word he hears quite often when he's being described. Patriotic. Loyal. And it's not all wrong – Steve would go through a horde of Nausicaans single-handedly if one of his crew was in danger, does his best to be fair when his position forces him to make tough decisions – but it can get out of hand, and it makes for an awkward situation when his crew is star-struck by his mere presence.

It gets worse when Captain Phillips decides he's ready for his own command and sends word to Starfleet that Rogers should be promoted and given a ship post-haste.

Half the time Steve isn't quite sure what's going on – bureaucracy has never been his strong suit, and it's hard to feel passionate about completing paperwork. He misses his ship, misses serving as Phillips' XO, misses his friends among the crew more than he cares to admit to anyone around him. Steve's a hands-on kind of guy, and while the thought of having his own vessel makes him feel warm, the 'hurry up and wait' they have him playing in the downtime while a crew is assembled for his ship is unbelievably dull.

It finally all starts to feel real when he's called in to speak with several officers they have lined up to be his XO. The process is all much more formal than Steve's used to; his own promotion came after Phillips' old first officer was injured on assignment and the position was freed up. He'd already known the captain he was going to serve under, knew they worked well together.

Steve's not sure what to think of working with someone he doesn't know at all, but he's willing to give it a try.

The first few candidates are so young, it's hard to believe that Steve was once that eager kid too. He's not old by any means, but the faces smiling back at him over the conference table just don't seem ready yet.

He's polite when he thanks them for taking time to speak with him and sends them on their way.

The next are better, but Steve still doesn't feel a click with any of them. They're professional and do good work and despite how much Steve wants to find his first officer in this batch of candidates, there's something missing from each of them.

Steve's resigned to another week of paperwork when he's gotten through most of the interviews, only a handful left.

Then he meets Barton and Romanoff.

They come in together, uniforms crisp, and are so in sync Steve would suspect some sort of telepathy if he hadn't already glanced over each of their files.

"Captain Rogers, it's good to meet you," Romanov says, extending her hand. Steve takes it, gestures for them to sit.

"I was hoping to have a one-on-one conversation with each of the candidates," Steve begins to explain. Barton cuts in.

"You want Natasha for your first and me for your security chief," he says.

The certainty gives Steve reason to pause.

"Is that so?"

Barton smirks. Romanov is the one to tell him, "We are the right people for the job."

Steve's never quite sure why he says, "Commander Romanov. Lieutenant Commander Barton. Welcome to the _Constellation_."

He doesn't regret it.


	3. sweat

The door won't move.

Steve's exhausted, his team is trapped in the next room over, and the door is jammed so badly it won't even budge an inch.

A grunt escapes his mouth as he shoves ineffectually. He'd try his phaser, but it's already drained so badly he'd be surprised if it could so much as stun a rat, let alone help him get the door moving.

"This is Captain Rogers, report," he shouts after a few more minutes when he makes out some shuffling and muffled conversation on the other side of the door, pounds hard on the metal with his fist.

The minute it takes for him to get a reply is agonizing. When it finally comes, it's raspy and weak. "Cap, this is Barton. We're here."

"Barton, what's it like in there? I can't get the door open." Steve leans his forehead against the metal, warm against his skin. "Are Commander Barnes or Commander Romanov with you?"

The silence this time drags on longer and the reply is quieter. "Too much debris to shift to get it open. Sir, Barnes is… Barnes is bad. The explosion -" Clint pauses, swallows hard. "If we don't get him back to this ship…"

A chill goes down Steve's back. "Are the other members of the away team with you?"

Something like a cough filters through the door but it's too distorted and before Steve gets the chance to ask about it, Clint is continuing his report. "Ensign Ral is dead. Dosun is doing what they can to keep Commander Barnes stable. We haven't seen Romanov since the alarms started going off. She went to find you and make sure you didn't need backup. Our comms were damaged when the explosions went off so we haven't spoken to her either." There's another suspicious sound and Steve feels dread pooling in his gut.

"Barton, what is your status?" he asks, quiet enough he's not sure if Barton even hears him.

"Not gonna lie, Cap, I'm not doing too well either," Barton says, and Steve's heart breaks. "It's been a real honor serving under you, sir."

His hand curls into a fist of its own accord, moves with its own mind to press against his mouth.

Steve spends long minutes standing there, dirty and sweaty and bloody, every muscle and bone aching worse than he's ever imagined possible. None of it compares to the tight feeling of panic swelling in his chest, the fear clawing viciously at his heart. He lets it take hold for a few short minutes before he shoves it down, because he's a professional and he's got a job to do.

Steve takes a long, shaky breath and clears his throat. "Atmosphere's too disruptive for our transporters. It'll probably be a few hours before the storm clears enough for a shuttle to make it down."

"How long?" Barton asks. Steve doesn't let himself imagine what it must be like in there, doesn't want to imagine how his battered crew looks. Can't bring himself look at the hazy air and rubble around him. He shuts his eyes tight.

His voice breaks when he admits, "Can't contact the ship - they took my comm badge. I don't know."

Something rattles to his left and Steve springs back to his feet. The quick motion makes his head feel light and dizzy but he keeps his feet, relaxes when his first officer appears.

Natasha's just as dirty as he is, her arm held tight against her chest in a makeshift sling, and her skin seems so pale compared to its normal green. Her hair is grey with dust and ash.

"Captain. Commander Barnes and the rest of the team-"

"Through there," Steve jerks his thumb over his shoulder, sags back against the door and speaks louder to announce, "Commander Romanov is here, Barton."

"Natasha, are you okay?" Clint shouts.

"I've had worse," Natasha tells them all, picks her way to crouch at Steve's side. Quieter, she asks, "What is the situation?"

"Door's blocked by debris. Dosun is fine as far as I know. Barton and Barnes both need urgent medical attention." Steve runs a hand through his hair as Natasha processes this, bright eyes flicking about the wrecked room. "I think we were set up - all the traders disappeared as soon as the explosions started going off. They had some kind of transporter technology that wasn't affected by the atmosphere. I tried to find it, but whatever they used was portable. They took it away with them." Steve sighs heavily. "They took my damn comm badge, so I haven't had any contact with the ship."

"Ral?" Steve shakes his head.

Steve stares when Natasha pulls something from one of the pouches of her uniform and offers it to him, takes a moment to register that it's an older model communicator.

"Venture, this is Romanov. I've found Captain Rogers and the rest of the away team."

Thor replies a moment later, and Steve doesn't think he's ever been more relieved to hear the Klingon's low rumble than at that moment. " _Are there any injuries?_ "

Natasha offers Steve the communicator and he takes it gratefully, rests his head back against the door again as he fills their Communications chief in on the situation.

Steve's honest enough with himself to admit that he's viciously pleased when Thor informs them that the traders' vessel was disabled by an overeager ensign when it tried to jump to warp and escape.

"Have Stark search the ship for the transporter device. I only saw it for a moment but it was about a meter long, half a meter tall. Matte black. And it'll have to be near a power source. From what I could tell it was drawing lots of power. Have Banner prepare the medical bay – if Stark can find the transporter and get it operational, I want Barnes and Barton brought beamed there immediately."

Thor confirms the order and then there's silence. Steve feels on edge with nothing he can do to help, and he's pretty sure soon he's going to crash from the rush of adrenaline he's been running on since the first alarm started wailing.

Natasha approaches him a few minutes later, finished her survey of the room. "I want to try the vents," she tells him. "If you can give me a boost, I can reach them, and I can get in to see the rest of the team."

Steve agrees, and shortly they're positioned beneath one of the vents so Steve can lift Natasha enough to reach the grate. Natasha uses the last of her phaser's reserves to loosen the grate enough for her to pull it free one-handed and then she's out of view. Steve settles in for a wait, and it's several minutes before he hears noise from the vent.

He stands when Dosun appears – dusty and bruised but otherwise okay – and offers a hand to pull Steve up.

It's cramped in the vents – only just large enough for Steve's shoulders to fit through – and he's left crawling after Dosun as they shuffle backwards through the shaft.

It's not far to the other room. It still feels like miles.

He drops from the vent and lands heavily, too exhausted to do much other than make sure he doesn't break his own legs by landing wrong. This room is even more of a mess than the one he just left, though there's less smoke in the air and most of the dust has settled by now.

Steve doesn't let his eyes linger on Ensign Ral's body, though he says a quiet prayer, instead turns towards the blocked door.

Natasha is crouched by Barnes, fingers pressed against the pulse point in his neck. Steve feels bile rise in his throat at the sight of Bucky's mangled arm, the large brown stain that stretches across Bucky's ribs and abdomen. Dosun is on the other side of the room, taking readings with her tricorder and subtly giving the captain and first officer a few moments of privacy.

A quiet hiss draws Steve's attention and he goes to Clint's side, squeezes back when the other man grabs at his hand. Steve's fairly certain the only reason it was Clint reporting and not Dosun is that the Betazoid had been focusing their attention on Barnes. The piece of metal protruding from Clint's side is ugly, and there's even more blood staining Clint's gray uniform than Bucky's.

"Hey, we're here." Steve squeezes Clint's hand again.

"Steve," Clint says, and Steve can count on one hand the number of times Clint has used his first name while on duty. "If I don't make it-"

"Barton-"

"If I don't make it," Clint repeats through gritted teeth, eyes hard on Steve's. "I want you to promote Lieutenant Bishop. I trust her, and she's ready. She'll make a fine security chief."

Steve blinks hard, wipes at his eyes with his free hand. "I already have a security chief, Clint."

"Just tryin' to cover all your bases, Cap." Clint twitches when some of the rubble on the other side of the room shifts suddenly, then gasps and goes tense, hand like a vice on Steve's wrist from the pain.

Dosun is there in an instant with the tricorder, scanning Clint's abdomen and taking his pulse with her free hand. She meets Steve's eyes, expression grim. "They can't stay here, Captain."

He glances at Natasha, watches the tense line of her mouth as she shifts her attention between Clint and Bucky in turns.

There are days Steve wishes he'd never looked to the stars and decided that was where he needed to be.

" _Away team, this is the Venture. Stark has located the device. He and Doctor Foster estimate it will be operational within the hour. What is your status?_ "

"Venture, this is Rogers. We're holding up as well as we can. Lock on to our coordinates now and as soon as the device is operational beam us out."

" _Acknowledged. Venture out._ "

It is exactly two hours and forty-three minutes of Clint and Bucky getting paler and stiller before Steve feels the tell-tale chill of a transporter. One hundred and sixty-three minutes of Clint's labored breathing and Natasha's comforting murmurs to the injured men. Steve, for his part, takes Clint and Bucky's phasers – both at half charge – and keeps watch. It's enough to focus him and keep his thoughts from straying to unpleasant possibilities.

His crew is the best in the fleet, even if it's not clear to the admiralty or other outsiders. Steve is well aware of everything his officers and enlisted crew can accomplish when they put their minds to a common goal. It's still hard to keep the pessimistic thoughts and worries from the forefront of his mind.

Steve blinks and the world is dark and cold, the wreckage gone. He blinks again and shivers when he rematerializes in sickbay.

He hears Tony first, crowing "We've got them! Jane, you genius, you did it!" before there's a flurry of movement, doctors swarming to roll away the beds holding Bucky and Clint and nurses descending upon Steve, Natasha and Dosun. Over it all he hears Bruce issuing commands, medical tricorder whirring to life as he assesses his patients.

Sickbay is chaotic for a few disorienting minutes until the techs and engineers who were helping Jane and Tony are cleared out. Even then, Tony only leaves after loudly checking up on Steve, Natasha and Dosun. Steve makes a mental note to have the ship's counsellor speak to his senior staff about the day's events.

Steve's exhausted but can't fall asleep, too worried with Clint and Bucky's injuries looming in the back of his mind. It's hours before he sees Bruce leave the operating room, and he waves him over.

Bruce looks disappointed to see Steve awake, tiny frown etched on his face as he pulls over a chair to sit next to Steve's bed.

"How are they?" Steve whispers.

The CMO doesn't answer right away, wrings his hands and purses his lips as he puts his thoughts in order. "Clint will need to be on medical leave for a few weeks, but he should make a complete recovery given time." He pauses to yawn and rub his eyes. "I did what I could for James."

Steve's blood runs cold, and his face must show his fear because Bruce is quick to add, "He'll live. But his arm…" Bruce goes quiet, and his eyes are calm when he meets Steve's gaze. Steve swallows hard, nods. "The damage was severe. For now, we've done what we can. We'll reassess once he's started to heal."

They sit for a while, just the soft breathing of the other patients in sickbay and the quiet hum of machinery filling the space between them. Steve fidgets, picks at his blankets and watches the blinking lights on the computer consoles. He jumps slightly when Bruce rests a hand on his shoulder. "I was worried too. They're both going to be okay, Steve. You should sleep."

"Can't," Steve admits. "Too..." Steve waves his hand about, unsure how to explain the fear.

Bruce hums. "Try again, Captain. If you're still up in an hour, I'll have Parker give you something."

"Sounds fair."

"Good night, Steve."

Steve watches Bruce trundle away to his office and shuts his eyes once the man is out of sight.

His sleep, when it finally comes, is dreamless.


End file.
